


More Than Love

by Marked_by_moonlight



Series: Rose Red Wolves [1]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - No Powers, BAMF Sansa Stark, Bisexual Sansa Stark, Bisexuality, Blood and Injury, Bruises, Canon-Typical Violence, F/F, F/M, Horses, Hospitals, Knives, Major Character Injury, Medical Student Domeric Bolton, Mild Blood, Multi, Polyamorous Character, Polyamory, Pre-Relationship, Vomiting
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-13
Updated: 2020-04-10
Packaged: 2021-02-27 11:27:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,848
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22246315
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Marked_by_moonlight/pseuds/Marked_by_moonlight
Summary: A collection of Drabbles about the lives of Sansa Stark, Domeric Bolton, and Margaery Tyrell.
Relationships: Domeric Bolton & Ramsay Bolton, Domeric Bolton & Roose Bolton, Domeric Bolton/Sansa Stark, Domeric Bolton/Sansa Stark/Margaery Tyrell, Sansa Stark/Margaery Tyrell
Series: Rose Red Wolves [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1601419
Comments: 15
Kudos: 18





	1. Murphy's Law

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I dont own GoT or ASOIAF.
> 
> Please comment and tell me how you all like this fic! I'll be updating TNR soon, Ive just had stuff pop up.

He is looking for Ramsay when he finds her. She is tucked in a back alley, away from all the noise. Her limbs are splayed out around her as though she is a marionette whose strings have been cut. Her red hair is dark and wet with blood, bruises in the shape of handprints litter her arms and the underside of her pale jaw.

He picks her up gently and carries her to the side street he parked on. Opening the door to his red Mustang is more difficult, but he manages. Domeric settles Sansa Stark into the back seat and snaps the seat belt around her. He sees her slump against the door as he rounds the car to get into the driver’s seat.

He needs to call Uthor, the only maester who will see her at this late hour. His father is likely too preoccupied with surgeries to be in the front offices of the hospital, which is good. 

The handle of his knife bumps against his abdomen, rough and cold, stealing him from his thoughts and into action.

The ride to the hospital is one that is too long for Domeric’s tastes, even with him going twenty miles over the speed limit. He feels a muscle in his jaw twitch as he grips the steering wheel with white knuckles.

Head wounds are nothing to play with. His father had always made sure that had been drilled into him when he was working with his Grandfather’s herd. As a med student, this had become even more apparent. 

Finally, his mustang screeches into the parking lot, likely leaving behind black scorch marks on the pavement.

When he opens the door to the backseat, his damsel in distress throws up on his shoes, vomit splattering brown-green against his boots and the pavement. Domeric just sighs and lifts Sansa up bridal style, her weight settling in his arms like a feather. She weighs almost nothing compared to a newborn colt. He is sure that Uthor will have plenty to say to whomever her emergency contact is.

\-------------------

The hospital is the same as always, the smell of disinfectant and chatter, the fluorescent lights bright against his eyes. He is leaning against the nurses station, admiring the grain of the cherry wood floors and sipping a cup of coffee while Uthor has Sansa Stark fill out a rape kit. 

He knows that the likelihood that they will find her attacker is slim to none, but he knows that Ned Stark will be in a rage. One of the nurses contacted her emergency contact thirty minutes ago, so the thought of seeing a horde of Starks descend upon his father’s hospital is terrifying.

Ever since that business with Aunt Barbrey and Brandon Stark, neither side of his family has been hospitibal to Sansa’s.

But what he gets is far, far from the sight he expects to see. Margaery Tyrell is storming into the front of the hospital, dressed in a grey King’s Landing University sweatshirt and pyjama pants, her honey blonde hair piled into a messy bun at the top of her head.

The crown jewel of the Reach is puffy eyed and snarling like one of the Stark’s direwolves, tossing out demands to see Sansa like only someone from Old Money can do.

Domeric whistles to try to get her attention, and it works.

“Bolton! Where the fuck is my girlfriend?”

His ghost grey eyes widen in surprise.

“If you mean Sansa Stark, she’s right through there.” He motions with the lid of his coffee cup and takes a sip before calling out to her again in a silky soft voice.

“Tyrell, the Maester is doing a rape kit. I found her passed out in an alley.”

Before he can even finish the sentence, Margaery Tyrell is in his face, hissing threats and pressing against him in a way that would appear sensual to any outsider.

“If you’ve fucking touched her, Bolton, I will make sure that this hospital does not have a legal leg to stand on!”

Spittle flies into his face, and he does not bother to wipe it off.  
“Rest assured, Lady Margaery. Your lady love is safe, I haven’t touched her, and I won’t without her consent.”

He grips Margaery’s wrist in his long, pale fingers and squeezes tight enough to hurt, but not to bruise. 

Their confrontation in interrupted by Sansa herself, who is being wheeled to the restrooms down the hall for a urine sample. Margaery Tyrell breaks from his grip, and goes to flutter after her girlfriend. 

Domeric lets her go, his hand falling back against his leg as he takes a long sip of his much needed coffee.


	2. Old Fashioned

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa Stark gets discharged from the hospital and Domeric Bolton unintentionally out romances Margaery Tyrell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don’t own GoT.
> 
> I also wrote the last half of this bc I couldn’t sleep.

She stays in the hospital for three days before being discharged. Margaery stays by her side the entire time. 

The bruises on her arms stand out sickly green against her pale skin. The most horrifying ones are ringed around the column of her throat, the color of the sky before a summer storm. 

She can hardly talk for the pain. Her body aches worse than it did then when she had the flu as a child, a bone deep tiredness that will not leave her, no matter how much she wishes it would.

Margaery brings her the softest clothes they have, a set of expensive silk pajamas that are the shade of fresh mulled wine. A gift from Olenna that has never been worn.

Domeric Bolton comes and goes like a ghost, looming in her doorway a silent specter. He gifts her a bundle of Tyrell roses that are the color of the setting sun as she is wheeled out of the hospital.

She fights a smile as her girlfriend makes outraged squawking noises behind her.

“Come on, Margie. Let’s go home, I’m tired.” Whispers Sansa with a gentle pull on Margaery’s hand.

Thankfully, her girlfriend leaves the fight, and the insult to her pride, behind.

The trip home is an uneventful one. Sansa settles her aching body into the leather passenger seat of her girlfriend’s sky blue Kia Soul. The car flares to life underneath her, the radio playing soft indie music. She watches the rose scented air freshener sway with the moving car, occasionally glancing over to stare lovingly at Margie.

They pull into the parking space on the side street, and Sansa is greeted by Garlan Tyrell. Her girlfriend’s brother is dressed in jeans and a green and white patterned flannel. When the car is in park, she is escorted out of the car by a fretting Margaery and a grinning Garlan.

Sansa reaches up to pat his face, her fingers brushing the rough tangled curls of Garlan’s beard.

“It’s good to see your face, Garlan. You spend too much time surrounded by apple trees.” Says Sansa.

“That’s what i keep telling him!” Exclaims Margie.

Garlan just snorts and turns to help her up the steps to their apartment.

———————————-

Garlan leaves after a cup of tea and wishing her well. Lady is sequestered away in their bedroom so that nothing disturbs her recovery. She is sprawled out on the couch, covered in a knit afghan made from yellow dyed lambs wool. 

The room begins to spin around her in dizzying circles, so her eyelids slip closed. Margaery putters around in the kitchen, likely heating up the last of the apple crumble that Leonette made them last week. 

“Margie, stop making so much noise, please. I’m tryin’ to sleep.” Whispers Sansa, her northron brogue slipping thick over her tongue and curling around the edges of her teeth.

“Of course, my love.” Replies Margaery. 

There are a few more loud bangs from the kitchen, and the sudden blare of the television flaring to life, before blessed silence descends upon their apartment.

When the vertigo passes, Sansa opens her eyes to find her girlfriend settled on the reclining leather chair with a bowl of Leonette’s apple crumble and vanilla ice cream.

“I’ve been channel surfing. There’s nothing good on, not even my Soaps!” Says Margaery.

She just hums in response, because there was nothing else to say. 

Her girlfriend chatters on, headless to the fact that Sansa is only half listening to her.

“I cannot believe that Domeric Bolton got you flowers before I could! Especially Tyrell roses, the utter wanker! I’m supposed to be the old fashioned one!”

A laugh bubbles its way up out of her chest, but soon turns into a hacking cough that causes Sansa to hang halfway off the couch.

Margaery abandons her bowl on the armrest and kneels on the floor beside her, rubbing circles on her back. Sansa lets her body lean off the couch and flops into the comfort of her girlfriends embrace.

She does not weep, she cannot, for if she does, it would mean Joffrey Baratheon got the better of her.

After the hell he put them through, she will not give him anymore of her tears.


	3. Society’s Punishments

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Joffrey gets caught, and justice served.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don’t own GoT.
> 
> Hope you all enjoy this little chapter and are staying safe out there!

When the lawsuit papers arrive on Tyrion’s desk at half past eight in the morning, he is drinking coffee sweetened with vanilla creamer. Podrick lays the large manilla folder on his desk, and then leaves the room.

It’s apparently urgent. Flipping open the file, he nearly spews his coffee at the sight before him. Two fucking lawsuits. Apparently Joffrey attacked and raped Sansa Stark, and his DNA was found at the scene of a double homicide of two prostitutes. This was going to be an absolute shit storm.

Gods, he needed to tell father before Cersei had the chance to bribe anyone. Hopefully the esteemed Tywin Lannister would give more of a shit about keeping Joffrey away from normal society than the family pride.

There was no way any of them were getting out of this clean. If father chose to fight the suits, which he undoubtedly would, they would drag on for months, maybe even years. 

His nephew’s violent tendencies had been left to fester like a pus filled wound, and they would all die because of it. Cersei thought her precious son could do no wrong, and Robert ignored his children in favor of drinking his sorrows away and chasing women.

Jaime was off doing Gods know what, the last he heard, his older brother had been somewhere in the Riverlands with the Evenstar’s eldest daughter. Ever since the accident that cost Jaime his dominant hand, he’d become a recluse, even to Cersei.

Letting out a sigh, and wishing his coffee was something stronger, Tyrion Lannister tucked the manila folders into his red leather briefcase.

Stepping out of his small office, he waved off Pod and muttered a hasty goodbye. He only stopped to tell Pod that he wouldn’t be available until after lunch if anyone needed him.

The long walk to his father’s office at the top of the building felt like a walk to the gallows.

And in a way, it was.

Joffrey had tarnished the Lannister name even worse than Tytos Lannister had.

His father would be out for blood. Only time would tell whether that blood would be from wolves or lions.


End file.
